Back-to-school season has always been an exciting time for me. As a kid, I always loved school.

We lived on the outskirts of McHenry, and unless we made specific plans with our friends, my brother and I were on our own. Going back to school meant that I’d get to see my friends every day.

Having the structure of learning different subjects throughout the day also appealed to my inner nerd. No longer was I expected to come up with things to engage my brain; there were teachers to do that.

During the summer, my mother would have a list of chores that my brother and I would have to accomplish before we’d have our unstructured play time. We had a small farm, so there were always weeds to pull, lawns to mow, chickens to feed or clean up after and the like. I don’t regret any of that now, but at the time it was pure torture to have to “work” before goofing around.

These days I appreciate that my parents made sure that I had to work for things and that I learned to take my responsibilities seriously from an early age. Then again, an allowance would have been nice, but we were living on a tight budget. This, too, taught life lessons that I carry with me to this day.

Back to school also meant getting new supplies and one or two new outfits. Because we didn’t have a lot of money, sometimes that meant “new to me” rather than brand new. Of course, I had a few years there when I rebelled against the notion of “used.” Age and experience straightened me out, and now I’m more than happy to score something wonderful that someone else got tired of. There’s something to be said for getting better quality things used over new, poorly constructed things. Just saying.

My mother took our education seriously. She never missed a parent-teacher conference and made sure she knew what we were learning, what homework we had to do and what was required for us to succeed.

What she did not do was take over and do any of our projects. If we waited until the last minute to put together a project, well, that was on us. We very quickly learned that there were consequences for our actions, and we were the ones who would feel them.

My brother and I were required to do our best. Slacking off wasn’t allowed. Not that I ever wanted to be lazy. I loved to learn, and I rewarded my mother’s diligence with good grades.

That’s not to say that my parents didn’t help. My mother spent countless hours going over flashcards with me, whether it was learning the capitals of the states or my spelling list. If we really needed something for class, she’d find a way to make it happen.

Despite being an older mother, Mom made sure to take part in parent-teacher organization activities. She liked to crochet, so she would make hundreds of crocheted bookmarks for the annual fun fair at Valley View School. If it was a baked good that was needed, she was on that too.

Things got trickier for me when both of my parents drove school buses when I was in junior high. Now I see that they were doing what they could to support me and my brother, but it was challenging to be “cool” when most of my schoolmates didn’t really care for one of my parents.

I remember distinctly being horrified when the junior high class prophecies came out and I was tagged as going to be a bus driver because my parents were. Of course, it was low-hanging fruit for the cool kids to come up with that. I wish I could have embraced it instead of being embarrassed. But it felt like another level of bullying that I was dealing with at the time.

By high school, my parents got used to hauling me around to band practice or debate practice or whatever else I was involved in. Although they weren’t the parents of an athlete, they still needed to get up early to get me to the bus for Saturday morning debate tournaments. Sacrifices were made, and I appreciate them more now than I ever did then.

My parents poured themselves into my brother and me. They supported us any way they could without interfering in our ability to learn. They held us to high standards, and while I didn’t always think it was fair, I’m happy that it resulted in me getting a bunch of scholarships so that I could go to Northwestern. Without them, I’m not sure that would have been possible.

So, parents and grandparents of today’s kids, do what you can to help your little ones see the value of hard work and of doing their own assignments. Support them and be involved.

You never know how far and how high your help will take them.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.